


Snack

by BoomyMcBlasty



Series: Between the Lines [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Time Skip, Scheming, Truth Serum, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 05:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomyMcBlasty/pseuds/BoomyMcBlasty
Summary: Claude, determined to discover the secrets of the nobles of Faerghus, spikes some veggies with homemade Truth Serum and serves it to Ingrid.He does not expect their little chat to go over the Tragedy of Duscur and Ingrid's work-in-progress-getting-better prejudice.





	Snack

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the Ingrid/Dedue B support, and after the Ingrid/Claude B support.

It’s hard to find dirt on Ingrid when she’s so prim and proper (and not in his class...yet). She has plenty of flaws that she mistakes as qualities. Claude can imagine her rebuttals to his accusations perfectly. 

Her intense attitude?  _ That’s how a real knight should conduct herself at all times _ . He can even hear her stern voice and picture the angry lines on her face. 

Her forcefulness?  _ I’m dragging Bernadetta to the training grounds for her own good _ . Claude is sure that the recluse will feel right at home without a door in her room, and that being dragged out by force won’t have any lasting psychological effects, no ma’am.

Oh, and her lectures… he shudders. He does not want to remember her scoldings, he has enough of hearing them the first time. At least in person he has her pretty face to look at.

Their latest argument did give him a lead, however, something he can use to his advantage. Without mentioning him directly, Ingrid talked to him about Sylvain, the trouble-making cavalier of the Blue Lions. Claude knows a couple of key facts about him: he’s the heir of House Gautier, he struck down his own brother-turned-Demonic-Beast, and he brought his Relic Weapon to the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion (Seteth confiscated it with a homicidal look on his face). Claude wanted to give a closer look at the lance, twisting and glowing as if it were alive, but he had Ingrid to snipe down with his training bow.

He doesn’t consider Sylvain a threat, so long as the cavalier keeps his paws away from the girls in his class. He seems to prefer wailing village girls anyway.

Claude looks outside of the window, at the red sky marred with clouds. It’s almost time for dinner.

Did he really think her immune to the renown of the Garreg Mach chefs, or did he simply believe her to be too stone cold to have a weakness?

Claude watches from the corner of his eye as Ingrid syphons cheese gratin out of the cup with zealotry. He never saw her eating—never needed yet another reason to find her cute.

She told  _ him  _ off for a yawn—if she could see herself right now, would she give herself a lecture? The image makes him grin, a grin he hides with a bite of his own gratin.

“It’s weirdly soothing watching you just shovel it right in there.” 

Cheers, Sylvain’s right. The cavalier sits next to Ingrid and gives her a piece of bread, which she accepts with a barely comprehensible thank you. Talking while eating, how uncouth—what would her ancestors say?

Oh. Claude’s face perks up. He was right about his hunch. The usually flirty Sylvain behaves almost like a normal human being in her presence. His shoulders are relaxed and he talks about something else than girls. Intriguing.

Claude finishes up his dish, having gained insight into two potential allies.

The latest fruit of his labor is a slightly bitter, odorless substance, inconspicuous enough to be used in the batter of deep-fried vegetables or fish. Claude settles for vegetables, since he doesn’t want his room to smell like fish for days.

It functions just like booze, minus the side effects; the results are lowered inhibitions and relaxation—perfect for Queen Uptight. Lorenz, who served as test subject, didn’t show any side effects; Claude his ready to use his little Truth Serum on Ingrid.

Except it’s not a serum, it’s a powder. Details...

His little scheme is nothing short of genius: break into Teach’s room to look at the weekly planning for the Blue Lions, woo the kitchen staff to cook, and have the spiked veggies ready in his hands just as Ingrid comes back from her sky watch duty.

“Hi, Claude.” Her smile is small and looks sweet, despite her probably not intending it to be.

“Ingrid! Fancy meeting you here.” He turns around, plate in hand, letting the vegetables’ smell do the work for him. Her eyes glitter as they fall on the plate. “I was just looking for a test subject for my latest culinary endeavor.”

Without giving him the time to even offer, she takes an eggplant slice. “Leave it to me.” 

She’s standing, without cutlery or napkins—that’s two strikes.

Once she swallows the first bite, bliss blooms on her face and she makes a content sound. That’s a very adorable third strike.

The plate is clean a minute later, quite an impressive feat. Fourth one?

Claude has to feign ignorance. “If I knew you were this hungry, I would have made more.”

“I just came back from an assignment. I love to be on sky watch, but giving so many treats to my pegasus always puts me in the mood for a snack myself.” She has a small smile on her face. Is the Truth Serum already working?

He tests his luck. “Have you ever eaten one of the carrots meant for your pegasus?”

“I would never! They’re important to keep your steed happy.”

“To keep your steed spoiled.”

Ingrid looks the other way. “I can’t deny that.”

It’s slowly taking effect. He needs to talk with her some more in the open before seeking the privacy of one of their rooms to learn all of the Blue Lions’ dirty secrets.

“So, how were they?” Claude points at the empty plate in his hands.

“Quite lovely, a bit more tart than usual.” She chuckles to herself. “Your first attempt?”

Claude nods. She doesn’t look any different, and doesn’t behave really any differently.

“I have some more in my room,” he says. It’s a small gamble, one he wins when her smile widens.

Strike number five: she’s going to man’s room, a place that her usual and proper self would never dare to enter. His little scheme is working perfectly. He opens the door to his room and invites her in. “After you.”

She enters and look around. Her arms rise—does she want to cross them?—and then fall slack at the sides of her body. “It’s really messy in here.”

The floor, the bed and the wardrobe are littered with books, she’s right. Claude sits on the floor and pats the space next to him, leaving the plate by the desk.

She doesn’t mention more food, which makes him think she forgot. A side effect of the powder, but not an unwelcome one.

She sits on the ground with grace, something he didn’t expect her to have, and looks around with a small smile and half-lidded eyes. That look on her is  _ dangerous _ .

“Ingrid, tell me…” Now the best part of his scheme begins: gathering dirt on the future of the Faerghus nobility. “Is it true that His Princeliness has a crush on Edelgard?”

Ingrid’s mouth opens in a perfect O. “Does he?”

“Hey, I’m asking you.”

Ingrid tilts her head. “I have seen him look at professor Byleth with a strange longing in his eyes… if there’s anyone His Highness fancies, it must be her.”

Intriguing. She’s speaking freely to him as if he were one of her girlfriends, Mercedes or Annette.

Claude will make sure to observe how the Prince behaves around Teach.

His next question is more practical and serves to satisfy his own curiosity. “Who’s stronger, Sylvain or Felix?”

“Sylvain,” she answers immediately. “Don’t tell Felix, he will kill me.”

“I’m no snitch.” Claude leans in and smirks. “Why Sylvain?”

“When Felix sees an enemy, he charges in, alone, swinging his sword. He is good with it, he’s strong…” Worry laces her words. “Yet he looks so easy to overpower. Sylvain, on the other hand, uses the terrain to his advantage, and leads his small battalion of Gautier Knights with such finesse…” Ingrid sighs. “He will make a fine commander, one day. His men love him.”

Mmh, so it boils down to their individual approaches on the battlefield. His question was simpler. “Felix with a sword, Sylvain on his warhorse, but without the Lance of Ruin. Who wins?”

The hypothetical question makes her think for a second. “Felix would try to blind the horse, or injure its legs.” She looks down at her hands with a small pout. “He doesn’t shy away from punching and kicking if his sword is stuck in between armor plates.” 

She produced a good analysis of the two, the observations he took at the mock battle match her words. She is good at evaluating allies—Claude likes that fact a bit too much for his tastes.

He readies his next question. “What’s Dedue’s weakness?”

He doesn’t expect to see anger on Ingrid’s face. He certainly doesn’t expect her to shake it away and replace it with a perplexed frown. Is the poison not working anymore— _ already _ ?

“He is from Duscur,” she says.

Claude cocks an eyebrow. He knows about the Tragedy, of course, but being from Duscur is hardly the man’s fault. He waits for an explanation, and when none comes, he pokes her shoulder. “He’s from Duscur. So?”

“The people of Faerghus will never trust him. When Flayn was kidnapped, some monks refused his help.” Her lips form a thin line. “Some will never manage to accept him.”

She’s skirting around a real answer. Perhaps he should have fed her more spiked turnips.

“Do  _ you  _ accept him?”

“It’s what I should do.” Ingrid lowers her face. “I hate myself for not being fully able to do it.”

Claude words his next question carefully. “Say, if Dedue was from Almyra or from Brigid… would you have any problem with him?”

She shakes her head. 

Figures. Almyra is a Leicester problem, and Brigid is for Adrestia to terrorize and submit. The Kingdom couldn’t care less about territories that far away, when they have Duscur and Sreng.

“Now, if  _ I _ were from Duscur…”

Claude watches as her expression becomes pained. “You are not.”

“Use your imagination for a second. If I were—”

“I know,” she interrupts him. “I know it’s wrong of me to condemn Dedue. He was a child when it happened, just like His Highness was, just like the rest of us. But our future was stolen from us.” Her face is uncharacteristically blank.

Some would argue they still are children, but Claude doesn’t voice the thought.

“How can I serve the people of Faerghus as a knight if I refuse to serve those of Duscur?” she asks him. 

It’s a good question, one that Claude holds dear to him. In his future, there won’t be people of Duscur or Faerghus, of Fódlan or Almyra. There will just be people.

Claude wants to answer her, but can’t. That would make her journey pointless.

He asks another question out of curiosity: “What did you lose in the Tragedy?”

He knows that Dimitri lost his nuclear family to the Tragedy. Claude doesn’t even want to imagine how potent the Prince’s grief must have been.

“Glenn.” 

An unfamiliar name. “Who’s that?”

Her hand ghosts over her left ring finger. “I was promised, at birth, to the eldest son of Duke Fraldarius.”

A familiar name. Eldest son… “Felix’s brother?”

Ingrid nods, looking empty.

Felix lost a brother, Ingrid a fiancé. Sylvain must have lost something as well, since he has issues, just like the other two and His Princeliness.

“He taught me how to wield a spear, he always tended to the horses with me.” The blankness of her face makes her look eerie. “He was my knight in shining armor.”

Claude did not expect this. He is the one feeling uncomfortable, and he spiked her meal. Role reversal, much. He pats her shoulder and tries to encourage her. “You can cry if you want.”

“I don’t have any tears left.” Her nails scrape on her ring finger. “A knight doesn’t mull over  _ what ifs _ .”

That’s exactly what she’s doing right now. Claude sighs and then it clicks. 

Glenn, a knight in shining armor, her future husband stolen from her. Her dream to be just like him, even if it means driving away others with her intensity, with her desire to do things by the book, just like an honorable knight would.

“Would Glenn have approved of your contempt for Duscur?” he asks. A low blow, but she can take it.

Ingrid regains a bit of life in her eyes. “Of course not.”

That’s her answer. 

Claude is satisfied. He didn’t get much dirt on the other Blue Lions, but he got plenty on her—not only that, he was so generous as to help her clean up her act. Marvelous.

The Truth Serum is still working, and he would have _ loved  _ to test some of her boundaries, if only she hadn’t just told him about her dead fiancé and her work-in-progress-getting-better distaste for Duscur. She’s still in his room, sitting on the floor next to him, a situation he needs to get out quickly, before she regains her prickliness.

“Say, Ingrid, want to pay a visit to the dining hall? I’m starving.”

Her whole face glows up. Shucks, he really is weak to that. “Of course. Let’s go!”

**Author's Note:**

> The Ingrid/Dedue ending shows that she gets better regarding Duscur; to become the knight she aspires to be, Ingrid NEEDS to come to terms with her prejudice. Her journey starts with Dedue's B support, and I can't help but think that Claude would try to help her, given his ideals.  
Also, he really likes to call her pretty in his supports with her, so there's that.


End file.
